And something inside me cracks, just a little. Not enough to break. Just enough to let him in.
Who is he really? The terrifying man I met years ago?
The arrogant boss?
The violent protector?
I don’t know. But I’m starting to think I might like to.
Chapter 18
Makari
Summer in Bar Harbor looks wrong on a day like this.
The sky is too open, too blue, the kind of endless northern-coast blue that feels carved out of some older world. The harbor glitters beneath it as the helicopter cuts over the water, blades chopping through the warm air with rhythmic violence. Waves catch the late light, a shimmer of gold and white that should be calming.
It isn’t.
Nova Scotia was supposed to clear my head. It didn’t. It only made things worse. I spent the entire flight there thinking of Roxanne poised over me this morning, her breath catching with each downward stroke of her hips. I spent the return flight trying not to think about it. That didn’t work either.
And when the coastline opened up in the distance—jagged, dark forest meeting deep blue water—I saw something else entirely.
Andrea.
A small girl with wild curiosity and no caution. I could imagine her on the beach—running straight into cold waves, pretending the ocean was breathing under her feet.
I pictured her face if she saw this view from up here. The shock of it. The wonder. Her questions, endless and bright.
Would Roxy ever let me take her? A smile twists my lips at the thought; no doubt she’d worry, insist that a flight like this was too dangerous, too risky. But if I promised to keep Andi safe with my entire being…would Roxanne trust me?
The rot of that question has stayed under my ribs for hours now, growing.
The skids touch down on the helipad with a jolt. The blades settle into slower rotations, scattering warm wind up the ridge. Below the landing platform, summer is in full force. The slopes are thick with maples and spruce, heavy with green. A few of the staff nod in acknowledgment from the path leading down toward the estate. They look relaxed tonight, more than usual, because the weather is mild and we’re between shipments.
Dima is waiting by one of the SUVs, leaning against the door with that look he wears when he’s bored and ready to cause trouble. His shirt is stretched across his shoulders, a map of sawdust smudges from whatever he did today. He straightens when he sees me.
“Boss.” His eyes narrow. “You look like hell.”
“Sharp observation.”
“Productive trip?”
“No.”
“Ah.” He nods sagely. “Woman trouble?”
I don’t answer. That’s enough of an answer.
He smirks but doesn’t press. “Jesse’s been tearing up the estate looking for you. Something about the Western perimeter.”
Of course. God forbid I have a day of rest. “Where is he now?”
“Your office. Probably pacing a hole in the floor.”
“Fine. Go home.”
“You sure? I can stay and watch you glower at emails.” He thumbs his Glock with a smirk, as if anything on my computer screen could be a real threat.
